I Guess I'm Stuck With You
by iColor With Crayons
Summary: Sherlock AU: College. John and Sherlock are assigned as roommates in a cramped dorm full of strange characters. For two people who wanted nothing more than four very ordinary years, extremely extraordinary things tend to happen. (I'm bad at summaries and titles, don't judge a book by its cover). Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow. Okay. I've done oneshots of John and Sherlock before, but never a full-fledged fic before. This is going to be a new experience! Any feedback that you have to offer would be much appreciated. :D One thing I will say is that each chapter is going to be told from either John or Sherlock's perspective (still in third person, though). It changes every chapter, so hopefully it won't get too confusing. I'll always mark who's perspective it is. Hope you enjoy!~**

**Chapter One - John**

John Watson sighed as he lugged his heavy suitcase up the stairs of the dorm building; his new home for the next year. Students were scurrying about with their parents at their heels. For once, John was relieved that his parents were dead. They would have hated this.

"Excuse me," He mumbled as he pushed past the crowds gathered around Mrs. Hudson, the resident director for their dorm.

It took forever for John to reach the dorm room that he had been assigned: 221B. He was relieved that he had been assigned to a room on the second floor instead of the sixth. Walking up two flights of stairs was much less miserable than walking up six.

John sighed heavily and dropped his bags. He looked around the dorm room thoughtfully. So this was home. His eyes came to rest on a tall, lanky figure standing on the other side of the room.

"Er, hello." He said awkwardly.

The boy on the other side of the room turned around. John's heart threatened to stop beating in his chest. The boy was gorgeous; absolutely gorgeous. Dark curls tumbled down from the top of his head, bright eyes bore into John, and muscular abs were threatening to tear through the ridiculously tight shirt that was tucked into equally tight pants.

"Hello," The boy repeated in a smooth, deep voice that sent a shiver through John, "Sherlock Holmes. You must be John Watson."

John had realized at some point during his junior year of high school that he was bisexual. That particular detail was currently coming to haunt him in the form of an unbelievably attractive roommate. Still, he didn't want to scare off his roommate, Sherlock. He didn't know how Sherlock would react upon discovering that John was bisexual and the very last thing that John wanted was to make things weird on their very first day living together.

He slowly nodded his head, feeling his face redden. "I, uh, John, yeah." He stammered awkwardly.

Sherlock smirked at him before turning around to resume unpacking. John scowled at the ground, irritated with himself. He was being so obvious. At least Sherlock was kind enough to pretend not to notice.

"Ah. Hello. Sherlock, have you introduced yourself to your new roommate?" A snobby voice came from the doorway.

John whipped around to see a tall man sporting an expensive suit and a pompous expression. He quirked an eyebrow and looked from the man to Sherlock inquisitively.

"Yes, Mycroft; I have. John, this is my insufferable brother, Mycroft. Mycroft, I suspect that you are already familiar with John Watson." Sherlock drawled in that voice of his, gesturing from Mycroft to John with what appeared to be a violin bow.

"Of course. It is a pleasure, John. Now, Sherlock; I have spoken to your resident advisor. His name is Gregory. He has promised to keep a watchful eye on you, as has Mrs. Hudson, who you are already familiar with. Even if you manage to get past Gregory and Mrs. Hudson - which I do not doubt - I have entered into an agreement with a number of your peers. I won't bore you with their names; just know that I will be receiving regular updates." Mycroft droned, sneering at Sherlock and largely ignoring John.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Yes, alright, Mycroft. You've made your point. I'm sure that John is very intimidated -"

John gave an involuntary snort. Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile before he continued speaking.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to unfinish packing and I'm sure you have a number of cakes to consume."

John tried to surpress a laugh while Mycroft scowled.

"Oh, Sherlock. I do hope that you grow out of this surly attitude. It is exhausting. John, I hope that you have more luck communicating with my younger brother. In the more likely event that he is equally difficult for you, here is my private phone number. Do not hesitate to call." Mycroft stated, handing John a business card before nodding his head curtly and exiting the room.

John turned to look at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. He had never met anyone with such a controlling sibling before. To his surprise, Sherlock was now focused on a large stack of books piled on his otherwise bare bed.

"Overprotective brother?" John prompted, hoping to get a decent conversation out of his roommate.

"Mmm." Sherlock agreed absently, turning around to resume unpacking.

John rolled his eyes and let out a silent sigh. Resigning to a date in which his gorgeous roommate did not pay any attention to him, John turned and began to unpack his own bags.

The silence was suffocating. John's mind was racing with questions and speculations on whether or not he should bother pursuing his unbearably attractive roommate. Sherlock did not seem very open to any type of flirtation. Friendship, then. John would just have to settle for friendship. The blond snuck a look at the clothes that Sherlock was unpacking and finally spoke up.

"Are you going to apply for the business school?" He asked, noticing the amount of suits hanging in Sherlock's closet. John couldn't help but hope that Sherlock would be required to wear his tight-fitting dress clothes relatively often. Even if they were only friends, John could appreciate the suits. They left very little to the imagination, which benefitted John immensely. He had never had a very good imagination.

"No," Sherlock looked over at John in surprise. Noticing that John's question appeared to have been prompted by his wardrobe, Sherlock scoffed. "I am a man of impeccable tastes. That has nothing to do with my area of study. I am a criminology major."

John glanced down at his ratty t-shirt and suddenly felt extremely inadequate. Sherlock seemed to realize this and took a step forward, his eyes fixed on John. John cleared his throat nervously.

"How strange," The taller boy rumbled as a smirk crossed his face.

"What's strange?" John challenged, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"You are." Sherlock responded, his eyebrows furrowing a bit, "You see, but do not observe. I, on the other hand, cannot help but observe. John Watson: eighteen, baseball player, orphan, and reluctantly gay." John scowled. Sherlock noticed. "No? Hm. Bisexual, then. Yes, that makes much more sense. And you lived with your brother for a bit before coming to school."

"What? No! How did you -?" John demanded, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed and exposed. He didn't know how Sherlock had found out so much about him, but John did not like it one bit. He felt as if he were standing completely naked in front of an all too critical Sherlock.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes in what seemed to be complete frustration. "I told you - I observe things. You must be eighteen if you were permitted to sign in without a legal guardian. You clearly play baseball, as you have a number of baseballs and gloves in your bag. As for the orphan deduction; the lack of parents could mean a number of things, I suppose. You might resent them, you might prefer a bit of freedom, or they might simply be busy. However, over the course of the last hour you have placed a number of pictures of your parents around the room. That indicates that you do not have a strained relationship with your parents, making their absence a bit more meaningful. They could be busy, still. Then there's the age of the photographs. There are tears around the edges and the ink is a bit faded. The frames are significantly younger than the pictures. This signifies a sentimental attachment. You might simply like these pictures, but from the way you cringe when looking at the picture near your closet does not support that theory. No, you treasure those pictures because you can never take another. Your parents are dead, making you an orphan. Now, your brother. I suppose there are a number of petty details pointing to his presence, but the easiest way to explain it to your rather slow-paced mind is the presence of the card off to the left of your textbooks." Sherlock explained quickly, not taking his eyes off of John as he spoke.

John stared back, his mouth falling open in owe. Sherlock smirked.

"How could you possibly know that I'm bisexual?" John finally choked out, feeling his face burning.

Sherlock looked at John in a way that made it perfectly clear that John's question had an extremely obvious answer. John's stomach twisted as he stared down at his shoes. He had thought that he had managed to mask his attraction to Sherlock fairly well. Evidently that was not the case. Now he would have to endure the embarrassment of Sherlock's smug acknowledgement for at least the rest of the school year.

"Right," John mumbled awkwardly.

"So everything was correct?" Sherlock asked, seemingly oblivious to John's embarrassment.

John shrugged, wanting nothing more than to drop off the face of the Earth. "Harry is my sister. Short for Harriet."

"Your sister!" Sherlock looked furious with himself, "Ah, I should have known. Oh, Mycroft would never let me hear the end of it if he had heard."

"Are you kidding?" John demanded incredulously, "Your brother would give you a hard time for that one thing? Sherlock, that was…" John shook his head in disbelief, "that was amazing."

"Do you really think so?"

John was gearing up for some sort of witty remark when he suddenly saw the look on Sherlock's face. He was not fishing for another compliment, as John had originally thought. On the contrary, Sherlock seemed surprised. John wondered when Sherlock had last heard a compliment. It must have been some time ago. John's snarky response died on his lips.

"Yes, of course. That was absolutely incredible." John assured him with a small smile.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "That's not what people usually say."

"What else could they possibly say?"

"Fuck off."

John couldn't help but laugh. Well, it was more of a giggle, really, but John wouldn't admit that. It wasn't too hard to believe that Sherlock could rub people the wrong way. From what John had observed, he did seem to be exceptionally difficult.

Sherlock smiled a bit before resuming his unpacking. John did the same, his heart hammering in his chest.

Every so often, John would allow himself to sneak a glance in Sherlock's direction. The taller boy looked confused as he hung up a poster of the periodic table of elements, placed his expensive suits in his closet, and sifted through a large filing cabinet that John was fairly certain they weren't allowed to have in the dorms.

John wanted to continue the conversation in order to find out more about Sherlock's talents and why he was so bewildered by compliments, but instead forced himself to continue unpacking silently. He was determined not to drool or stare in Sherlock's general direction. He had clearly embarrassed himself enough for the day.

Once John had finished throwing his unfolded clothes in his dresser, stacked his overpriced textbooks under his bed, and connected his crappy laptop to the campus internet, he realized that he was starving. John turned to face Sherlock for the first time in a few hours. He swallowed hard, his face already burning with embarrassment.

"Hey, uh, I think I'm going to go to the dining hall now. D'you, uh, I mean, would you want to come?"

Sherlock turned to look at John in confusion. "Why are you inviting me?"

John immediately felt awkward and terribly like the overly clingy version of himself that he had been trying to stifle.

"Oh, er, well, we're roommates. Roommates usually eat together, don't they? I mean, if you don't want to, ah, don't worry about it. I can just go by myself." John mumbled miserably.

"No; I suppose I should go if roommates are supposed to eat together. I don't want Mycroft to hear anything that might cause him to check up on me. There is no point in going to the dining hall, however. Students and parents alike will be flocking there for their last meal together." Sherlock mused.

John shifted on his feet and swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, uh, we could always go find a restaurant nearby."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed immediately, "We'll go to Angelo's. I know the owner."

"Yeah, okay." John agreed eagerly.

Sherlock gave him a bemused look before putting on an oversized black coat that looked way too warm for August weather, and approaching the door. John followed at his heels, resenting himself for how eager he was to get closer to his horribly attractive roommate.

* * *

><p>As Sherlock had insisted, the pair wound up at a place called Angelo's. And, as Sherlock had said, he knew the owner. He seemed to know the owner very well, in fact. The owner quickly ran over to the pair the second that they set foot in the restaurant.<p>

"So nice to see that you have met somebody," The owner, Angelo, cooed, beaming at Sherlock as he led the pair towards the back of the restaurant, "I've got just the table. No one will disturb you and your date. I will go get candles; very romantic."

"Oh, no, I'm not his -" John tried to explain, but Angelo darted off too quickly to hear his protests. Sherlock didn't seem to notice the exchange and calmly took a seat at the table.

John plopped down across from Sherlock, deciding to act equally nonchalant about being mistaken for a couple. When Angelo brought over a candle and a bottle of wine, John didn't even try to protest. He simply ordered a plate of spaghetti and pretended to receive an important text that required his undivided attention. At least there was wine.

"Just the wine for me. Thanks, Angelo." Sherlock said, sparing Angelo a forced smile before staring across the table at John. John looked up in surprise.

"You're not eating anything?"

"No," Sherlock looked confused by John's question, "digestion only slows me down."

John snorted as Angelo made himself scarce. "Right, then. Is that why your brother is so worried about you? Don't take care of yourself?" John had been dying to know the reason behind the older Holmes brother's behavior, but had not known how to bring it up until now.

Sherlock smirked a bit. "No. I doubt my eating habits are of any concern to Mycroft. He is much more focused on my 'crippling drug addiction'." He responded, using air quotes to emphasize the fact that he thought Mycroft's concern was completely absurd.

John's eyes widened. He had not realized that his roommate was a drug addict. That was certainly going to make dorm life more interesting. Living with his alcoholic sister had given John enough experience with addicts to know that Sherlock's drug habits were going to cause problems in the future. John wasn't exactly sure how to respond to Sherlock's confession.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be boring, John. I am fine; I just need to quiet my mind every so often."

"I'm not - I mean, I don't care," John spluttered defensively, "Your girlfriend must worry about you, though. Doesn't she ever ask you to give it up?" Yes, John was being catty. He knew that he was. He just couldn't help it. He hadn't meant to sound quite so pathetic, but the question was now looming over the pair like a massive elephant in the room. John wanted to know whether or not Sherlock was straight and whether or not John had even a tiny chance with him.

"Mmm, girlfriends. Not really my area." Sherlock remarked, taking a rather large sip of wine. John's heart began to pound against his chest.

"Got a boyfriend, then?" Oh hell, Sherlock already knew about his attraction, didn't he? There was no point in dancing around the question that had been haunting John all day long.

Of course, Sherlock probably did have a boyfriend. How could he not? He was hands-down the most attractive guy that John had ever laid eyes on. His boyfriend was probably equally as devastating, if not moreso. John just hoped that Sherlock would take pity on his poor, sexually frustrated soul, and conduct his love affair outside of their dorm room.

"No." Sherlock's voice cut through John's self-pity.

"No?" John had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had nearly forgotten the question that Sherlock was answering.

"No, I do not have a boyfriend." Sherlock clarified with a bemused look.

John bit down on his tongue to keep from smiling. Sherlock didn't have a boyfriend! That was great news. Even if John stood no chance with Sherlock, he did not have to worry about some Adonis walking in and out of their dorm room and making his life miserable. That certainly had to count for something.

"Right, okay. You're single. Just like me." John's tongue darted out and licked his lips on its own accord.

Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "John, I should warn you. I consider myself married to my work."

What the hell did that even mean? They were both eighteen. What could possibly be so time consuming? Nothing, of course. Sherlock was making an excuse for the lack of attraction on his part. John may not have had much dignity when it came to the tall, dark, and genius roommate that he had been given, but he had just enough to save face when being rejected.

"What? No, er, I wasn't trying to ask you on a date. I was just…" John shook his head and gulped down the rest of his glass of wine. He was going to have to learn to lie better in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment before shifting his attention to the other occupants of the restaurant. He was undoubtedly deducing every little detail about their lives while they remained blissfully unaware. John was just relieved that those bright eyes were not focused on him anymore.

"So, John," Sherlock stated after about ten minutes, finally returning his sharp gaze to John, "how do you feel about the violin?"

From that point forward, the boys fell into a relatively comfortable conversation. Once they had decided on the parameters of Sherlock's violin playing, Sherlock deduced a bit more about John - though his deductions were relatively harmless this time, focusing mostly on John's favorite foods, books, movies, and where he liked to go on vacation - and John asked Sherlock questions that the taller boy never really answered. They fell into an easy camaraderie; one that they would never really emerge from.

After dinner, the boys thanked Angelo for the meal before starting back for the dorm. As they walked, John tried (unsuccessfully) to learn more about Sherlock, while Sherlock smirked a bit and gave the most vague answers he could. John didn't mind very much. He just liked talking to Sherlock.

Once the boys reached their floor, they quickly realized that there was a floor meeting being held without them. The RA - Greg - stopped giving the lecture that he had clearly been in the middle of and turned to look at Sherlock and John inquisitively.

"Oi. You the ones living in 221B?" Greg demanded, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands.

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered, leaning against the wall instead of sitting on the floor among the other residents.

In an effort to appear unaffected by his roommate's good looks, John plopped down next to a mousy girl while Sherlock began to inspect his peers. The mousy girl immediately spared John a wide smile.

"We're in 221B, yeah. This is Sherlock and I'm John Watson." John explained, affording the RA a sheepish smile. He was thrilled that the entire hall had seen him enter with Sherlock. They all probably thought that John was closer to Sherlock than he was. Good. The mousy girl next to him was already eying the lanky genius.

"I'm Molly." The girl whispered as Greg resumed his speech on the importance of knocking.

"John." John introduced himself, shaking Molly's smaller hand.

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to Greg drone on and on about the various rules that came with living in a dorm. Molly would occasionally whisper something to John in an effort to make the meeting less miserable, but John was in his own special sort of hell. He was forcing himself not to stare at Sherlock, which was so damn hard when the boy was leaning against the wall with his ass parallel to John's eyes. John deserved a damn Oscar for acting as though he was oblivious to that particular detail.

Once the meeting was over, Sherlock immediately returned to the room. Not wanting to seem nearly as desperate as he was, John remained in the hallway to talk to Molly.

"So you live with Sherlock?" Molly asked as the hallway filled with chatter, glancing in the direction of 221B curiously.

John nodded. "Yeah. Bit of a nut job, really. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the year."

Okay, talking about Sherlock behind his back might not have been the most mature thing that John had ever done, but he couldn't help himself. Molly was clearly interested and John had no idea whether or not she was Sherlock's type. He was selfish, he knew that. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Is he really? He seemed a bit distant, but I thought he just might be shy. Do you know much about him?" Molly questioned.

"Not really, but I'm not sure if anybody does. He's a bit of a puzzle. The only thing he's really told me is that he's a criminology major." John replied, hoping that the mention of such a low-paying career would send Molly chasing after a business school shmuck.

"Criminology? Wow. That sounds interesting, really."

"What sounds interesting?" Greg inquired, approaching the pair and immediately placing himself between Molly and John.

"Sherlock is majoring in criminology." Molly answered with a smile. John nodded his head, unhappy with how interested Molly was in everything Sherlock-related.

"Ah," Greg responded, clearly not so interested in talking about Sherlock. John was glad. The less competition, the better. "What are you two majoring in?"

"Pre-med." John shrugged, knowing that his answer was not nearly as important to Greg as Molly's.

Sure enough, Greg turned to look at Molly with a much more interested gaze.

"Biology." Molly answered, her face reddening slightly.

"Oh, nice," Greg immediately responded with a wide smile, "I'm a criminology major like Sherlock, but I've got loads of biology classes to take before I get my degree. Actually, I've taught a few bio classes myself. This year I'm the TA for Anatomy 101. Are either of you taking it?"

"Hey, yeah, I am. I think Sherlock might've mentioned something about taking the class, too." John replied, mildly surprised that he still had some relevance in the conversation.

It was clear that Greg was interested in Molly. From what John had seen, Greg couldn't go more than five minutes without looking at her. His eyes had narrowed when John had lingered behind to talk to Molly, clearly thinking that John shared his interest in Molly. If only Greg knew how very uninterested John was.

"Me too!" Molly chimed in excitedly, beaming up at Greg as though something truly exciting was happening.

"Really? Great; I guess I'll see you all in class, then. Do you know anything about anatomy yet?" Greg asked, not taking his eyes off of Molly as a pleasant grin broke across his face.

"Yeah, I worked in a morgue back home." Molly replied.

"Whoa, really? You must have some pretty interesting stories." Greg prompted, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall in a subtle attempt to move closer to Molly. John just barely held back a chuckle. Still, he pitied Greg. He knew what it was like to vy for an unappreciative crush's attention.

"Well, I don't know anything about anatomy," John lied, "And if there's one thing I hate, it's spoilers. Anyway, I'm wiped out and not really in the mood to talk about corpses. Night, guys."

"Goodnight." Molly and Greg chorused. It was obvious from Greg's smile that John had made the right move in leaving the pair to share corpse stories together. John chuckled to himself as he returned to 221B.

John was planning on talking to Sherlock some more, maybe even encouraging him to play something on the violin, when he entered the room. Unfortunately, Sherlock did not share those plans. The dark-haired boy was curled up in his bed with earphones in and a book pressed to his face. He clearly did not want to be disturbed.

John nodded to himself, deciding to wait until Sherlock removed his earphones to try and initiate a conversation with his roommate. He changed into his pajamas, knowing better than to try to remain out of Sherlock's sight. The boy would not have looked if his life depended on it, John knew that.

Sherlock still had not removed his headphones at this point, so John climbed into his lofted bed and checked Twitter in an attempt to wait for Sherlock to become available for conversation. As it turned out, John would fall asleep before Sherlock even considered removing the earphones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - Sherlock**

John Watson.

It was a horrendously boring name; a name given to him by parents that clearly wanted nothing more than a "normal" son. That would explain the boy's painfully obvious attempts at disguising his all too evident lust for Sherlock.

It was not the first time that Sherlock had realized that someone lusted after him. On the contrary, it happened fairly often. Sherlock was sure that it had something to do with his height and his intelligence. Both were desirable characteristics for reproduction. Regardless of the reason, Sherlock did know that John was very attracted to him.

How could he not know? John's pupils dilated every time they made eye contact, the boy licked his lips at least ten times the previous night, and he was always blushing. Sherlock could not for the life of him understand the blushing.

Well, strange as John Watson's behavior was, Sherlock knew that he would not act on his lust. He seemed content just to admire Sherlock from afar, and for his part, Sherlock certainly did not mind being admired from afar. It was a welcomed change from living with Mycroft, who only greeted him with frequent criticisms. John, on the other hand, had called him amazing.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise. Gavin Lestrade's shouting, to be exact. Sherlock scowled at the clock at the bottom right of his computer. It was seven in the morning. Why was Lestrade shouting at seven in the morning? Did he not know that some students were trying to read the obituary column?

The lanky genius stomped across the dorm room, past where John was just starting to wake up, and threw open the door to 221B. Lestrade was standing on the other side of the door, still shouting.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sherlock demanded in an outraged tone.

"Waking you lot up for orientation. I want you all dressed and ready to move in half an hour. Got it?" Lestrade replied with an amused grin.

Sherlock glowered. "I don't need orientation. I need quiet."

"Then you might be in the wrong building. Thirty minutes. Best tell John."

"I'm up, I'm up. Whasgoinon?" John grumbled, shuffling behind Sherlock, his eyes half-closed.

Sherlock turned to look at John. The boy's hair was sticking every which way, there was dried drool on the right side of his face, and there was what looked like some sort of stain on his ragged t-shirt. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We are apparently needed for orientation. You have thirty minutes to make yourself presentable." Sherlock answered curtly, ignoring John's progressively reddening face. It seemed that the shorter boy had been blissfully unaware of his disheveled appearance until Sherlock had pointed it out.

John looked Sherlock up and down. Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Do we have to dress nice?" John asked awkwardly, clearly forcing himself to avoid looking at Sherlock again. Sherlock snorted loudly.

"Nah," Lestrade replied, still grinning, "I guess we've just got a fashionable lot this year. Sherlock, you should go down the hall and talk to Jim Moriarty. I think he might have a bigger suit collection than you do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shut the door. As soon as he heard the 'click' of the door, Sherlock whirled around to face John. "What is wrong with my clothes?"

His question had come out as somewhat of a whine. He flinched at his pathetic tone, but flicked his eyes up to meet John's.

John smiled kindly, making Sherlock's eyes narrow suspiciously. "There's nothing wrong with them; people just don't usually wear suits if they don't have to. You look good, don't worry about it." John's face reddened as he hastily looked down at the ground.

Sherlock forced himself to scowl as he stalked back to his corner of the room. John shrugged and began to undress, oblivious to the fact that Sherlock was still watching him attentively. Sherlock's mouth went dry as John wandered about the room in nothing more than his snug boxer briefs, evidently searching for a pair of suitable shorts.

John Watson appeared to be much more muscular than Sherlock had anticipated. Underneath ill-fitting t-shirts and miserably worn jeans, John sported a rather appealing physique. He had a nice set of abs and very pleasing biceps. Yes, John was overall much more attractive than Sherlock had originally given him credit for.

He was also more observant than Sherlock had given him credit for.

"Want to take a picture or are you through staring?" The blond asked. His mouth was curved into a challenging grin while his big blue eyes twinkled with amusement. Sherlock's mouth went drier yet. Since when had he been attracted to his roommate?

Sherlock looked away quickly. His mind raced with different excuses he could make. He opted for the most obvious one. "How did you get the scar on your bicep?"

The smile faded from John's face. "Oh, ah, football. Long story, really."

The blond quickly put on a shirt and resumed dressing in silence. Sherlock allowed himself to stare at his well-built roommate for longer than was perhaps polite before returning his attention to the obituaries.

"I suppose we had better get going." John sighed once he was fully dressed, lunging for the door and desperately avoiding eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed after, relieved that John was no longer smugly laughing at him.

Once standing outside the dorm building with the rest of the floor, Sherlock allowed himself to deduce things about his fellow residents while lingering by John's side.

Lestrade interrupted his deductions by beginning the 'orientation,' if one could really call it that. The event primarily consisted of Lestrade leading the students around the large campus and shouting out various facts that he considered interesting, but were actually quite dull. John remained at Sherlock's side during the tour, although he chattered with the residents surrounding them relatively amicably.

"Heard you might consider trying out for baseball. Sebastian Wilkes, you can call me Seb." One particular resident stated, grinning at John with far too many teeth showing. Sherlock quickly averted his attention to the library that Lestrade was discussing.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm definitely thinking about it. How about you, Sherlock? Any sports that you're thinking about playing?" John responded, turning to look at Sherlock with those terribly frustrating eyes.

"No." Sherlock answered immediately.

"Really? You're pretty tall. I bet they would love someone like you on the team." Seb remarked, clearly trying to become Sherlock's friend. How tedious.

"No, I don't suppose they would," Sherlock responded immediately, "I have been told that I am not a team player and would likely frustrate any teammates that should be so unfortunate as to be placed with me. It is in everyone's best interest for me to spend my time doing something much more worth my while."

Seb gave John a look that Sherlock did not fully understand before wandering off to flirt with one of the girls hovering around Lestrade. John did not seem to mind being left with Sherlock once more. On the contrary, he seemed elated. The blond's attraction was exasperating beyond belief. Sherlock dutifully pretended not to notice.

The pair did not speak again until they entered the dining hall. Lestrade had somehow gotten access to the kitchen and was proving to his residents that the food was not ground dogmeat, as some upperclassmen tried to claim.

"Think they're hiding dead bodies in there?" John asked in a low voice, nodding towards the walk-in freezer at the back of the kitchen.

Sherlock glanced around curiously. Who was John talking to? As far as Sherlock could see, he was the only person within earshot of John's remark. Had John been speaking to him? How strange.

"The dimensions would be ideal for hiding a body," Sherlock allowed, watching John cautiously, "Although the entire dining staff would have to be in on it. Perhaps if a gang infiltrated the school…"

John laughed. Why was John laughing? Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.

"Or perhaps just a single killer with a bit of blackmailing. I would expect the great Sherlock Holmes to consider even the most remote of possibilities." A deep voice mused from behind the pair.

Sherlock turned to identify the speaker. He was shorter than Sherlock - probably around John's height - with dark hair and massive brown eyes that took in everything and gave nothing in return. Something was off with this boy - Sherlock could plainly see that - but more importantly, it was evident that this boy had been around cocaine within the past twenty four hours. Sherlock's interest was immediately piqued.

"May I have the same luxury of identification?" Sherlock inquired, eying the dark-haired boy that knew his name.

"Can't you deduce it?" The boy questioned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. While rolling his eyes, he suddenly noticed the tailoring of the boy's suit. The fact that the boy was even wearing a suit triggered a theory. Lestrade had mentioned another boy in the dorms with a respectable wardrobe. Jim Moriarty. Sherlock smirked.

"Hm. Moriarty. Of course." Sherlock murmured smugly. A wide, almost predatory, smile broke across the dark-haired boy's face.

The dark-haired boy, Moriarty, stuck his hand towards Sherlock. "Jim Moriarty - hi. I'm happy to see that the stories about you aren't completely exaggerated."

Sherlock shook the hand, his mouth curved into a smug smile. "Dare I ask what sort of stories you have heard about me?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know. Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty said the name in a tone of complete adoration. Sherlock was not quite sure what to think of that particular detail.

"And I'm John Watson."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before refocusing on Moriarty. It was perfectly obvious that John would not have any place in the acquaintance between Sherlock and Moriarty. The blond was nervous just at the mention of drugs and had an extremely calm, borderline dull mind.

Moriarty regarded John with the same predatory smile that Sherlock was growing less and less comfortable with. "Hello, John."

"What are you majoring in?" John asked, surveying Moriarty with an annoyed scowl, as if he could really deduct anything of real significance.

Moriarty continued to smile at John as though he were simply a precocious child. "Criminology, of course. Just like your darling little Sherlock."

"Wait a minute, I'm not -"

"Oh, there's no need to get bent out of shape, pet. We all know." Moriarty cooed gleefully. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and glanced over at where Lestrade was explaining the history behind a terribly decrepit statue of a turtle.

When Sherlock allowed himself to look at John once more, he realized that his roommate would not be entirely conducive to a successful encounter with Moriarty. Sherlock normally would not have minded, but there was cocaine on the line. Making a good impression was vital.

"John, would you excuse us for a moment?"

John looked insulted at the very suggestion. "What, you want me to walk to the other side of the group?"

Sherlock gave John the most withering look that he could manage. Jon stared at him in disbelief before snorting and shaking his head. The blond stomped away without another word, much to Sherlock's surprise.

Moriarty watched John's departure, his black eyes glinting. "Not a very obedient pet, is he? Too jealous. I suppose that could be endearing, in a way."

"Why exactly have you approached me?" Sherlock demanded, avoiding any further discussions about John.

"Oh, I think you know why. You and I, we're just alike. We're not like the other ordinary people. You need me. Without me, you'll be left with people like little Johnny Watson." Moriarty sneered, nodding towards John, who appeared to be trying to distract himself by talking to Seb Wilkes.

Sherlock glowered at Moriarty. "Do you still have coke?"

Moriarty's sneer turned into a wide grin. "Come to my room at eight."

"How much is it?"

"We'll worry about that another time. Money isn't really material to me."

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. He had run into this situation before. He was not interested in yet another dealer using cocaine to control him. That kind of control only made things messy.

"I want to pay for it."

Moriarty's eyes flashed with anger, but he quickly regained his composure. "Fine. My room, eight o'clock. Bring your wallet, leave the pet at home."

Sherlock nodded. "Now step away. My brother has a number of people spying on me. It is better for the both of us if he does not take an interest in you."

Moriarty smirked but nodded. "I'll be seeing you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock nodded as the boy sauntered towards the fringe of the orientation group. As Lestrade guided the group around the campus, Sherlock drifted closer to John, who seemed to have finished his conversation with Seb. John stared at Sherlock with a bemused expression.

"All done talking to your new friend?" John asked through clenched teeth, clearly struggling to maintain a pleasant tone.

Sherlock looked at John curiously. John was jealous. The very idea amused Sherlock. No one had ever been jealous over him before.

"For now." Sherlock allowed, smirking a bit.

"Alright, now we're at the dining hall. We're going to stop for lunch. Might as well get used to the food here; you're going to be eating a lot of it for the next four years. Word of the wise: steer clear of the chicken salad. It might look okay from a distance, but it's caused a lot of people a lot of pain over the years." Lestrade hollered, interrupting any snarky retort that John was thinking of making. Sherlock was secretly relieved.

Sherlock quickly followed the group into the dining hall, hoping to avoid any other jealous questions that John might have to ask. Once inside the dining hall, Sherlock got himself a bottle of water and plopped down at a deserted table. He pulled out his cell phone and prepared for a miserable hour of sitting alone, watching his hallmates establish meaningless friendships.

Just as he found a relatively interesting news article about a murder that Mycroft could undoubtedly tell him more about, he heard the clatter of a plastic tray against the table. His table. He looked up into the smiling face of John Watson.

"Not hungry?" The blond asked in a pleasant voice, sinking down in the seat across from Sherlock.

The taller boy blinked, confused by John's presence. He quickly shook off his confusion; John was attracted to him. This was just another attempt at winning him over. Sherlock must not view it as anything different.

"Eating slows me down; haven't I told you that?" Sherlock responded, his eyebrows furrowing a bit.

"Right, yeah, I just thought that you might have been joking about all of that. You should eat something, you know. You're already thin as a stick; I don't think you can really afford to skip many more meals." John chuckled, shoveling a rather large helping of pasta into his mouth.

"I eat when I must," Sherlock clarified, rolling his eyes, "I just prefer not to otherwise."

John nodded thoughtfully as he chewed a rather large mouthful of food.

"Hi, John." A mousy looking girl greeted the shorter boy, approaching their table with a shy smile.

Sherlock turned to look at John. Now John would leave him. John would leave him to eat lunch with this mousy girl and would likely never offer to eat with Sherlock again. Sherlock's fingers twitched towards his phone reflexively.

John hastily swallowed down the food in his mouth. "Hey, Molly. Er, Sherlock, this is Molly. Molly, Sherlock."

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly chirped enthusiastically.

Sherlock nodded before looking down at his phone. He wanted to make John's departure less awkward for everyone involved. John looked at Sherlock thoughtfully.

_Here it comes_, Sherlock thought to himself. John was thinking of a polite way to excuse himself without offending Sherlock or accidentally inviting him along. He needn't have worried. Sherlock had no interest in following John around like a lost puppy.

"Molly, do you want to sit with us? There's plenty of room." The blond suggested with a warm smile.

Sherlock blinked. That was certainly not what he had expected. Why had John acted as though they were all friends? Sherlock had not been particularly nice to John. John had not expressed an interest in befriending Sherlock at any point in the past two days. It did not make sense. It must have had something to do with John's blatant sexual attraction to Sherlock.

"Oh, sure. Thank you!" Molly agreed, sliding into the seat next to Sherlock and smiling up at him. Her eyes dilated to the size of dinner plates.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. For god's sake - was everybody on the hunt for a sexual relationship? Sherlock was beginning to feel like a piece of meat.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, the table gained even more occupants. Lestrade, who was clearly sexually attracted to Molly, approached the table nearly thirty seconds after Molly had taken a seat. Seb Wilkes paused to speak to the entire table a few minutes later. He did not sit down with them, but he did stop to discuss the school's sports teams, including even Sherlock, before wandering off in the direction of a more popular gaggle of students.

Still, three people were sitting at Sherlock's lunch table with him. That was three more people than Sherlock had expected. The lanky genius did not know how to act, nor did he know what to say, having never had friends before. He was forced to follow John's lead and hope for the best until it was finally time to return to the dorm.

Once in the dorm, Sherlock rushed over to his desk and did not hesitate to put in his earphones. Judging from his behavior the previous night, earphones appeared to be John Watson's kryptonite. The blond would not bother Sherlock if he had them in, for some strange reason.

Now immune to his roommate's prying questions and lusty stares, Sherlock was free to focus on his own interests. He began creating formulas for various types of poisons and distinct features that would signify the use of each of them. Sherlock was not planning on poisoning anyone, of course, he was just curious.

It was not until eight o'clock that Sherlock emerged from his work. He glanced down at his cell phone and removed his earphones. After sending a quick text to Moriarty, who was by now expecting him, Sherlock spared a glance in John's direction. The blond was watching some TV show on his laptop while eating a lukewarm bowl of ramen noodles.

Sensing Sherlock's eyes on him, John looked over and smiled at Sherlock. "Ah. Hey. Greg and Molly stopped by a while ago to ask if we wanted to go to dinner with them. You looked like you were busy, so I just told them we were staying in for the night. There's another packet of ramen by the microwave if you feel like eating."

Sherlock stared at John incredulously. He could not understand the meaning behind his roommate's strangely friendly behavior. Sherlock had done nothing to deserve or encourage it. John seemed to misinterpret the look. His eyes widened and his face reddened.

"Or not." He added meekly.

Sherlock exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. "Yes, well. As tempting as a bowl of ramen sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I have other plans for the evening. I'll be back eventually."

"Going to see tall, dark, and creepy?" So John knew about Sherlock's plans.

"Hm. Yes. Don't wait up."

John didn't bother to stop himself from watching Sherlock as the lanky boy grabbed his wallet and sauntered towards the door. Sherlock didn't bother telling himself that he didn't enjoy the look of enchantment that crossed John's face. Sherlock had had his fair share of admirers of course - he was tall and intelligent, after all - but never an admirer quite like John Watson. None that were quite as kind, quite as friendly, and (who was he kidding) quite as aesthetically pleasing.

Sherlock allowed himself to dwell on those thoughts as he strode down the hall towards Moriarty's room. He was not interested in any sort of relationship with John, he assured himself. He just enjoyed being at the center of someone's attention. It so rarely happened, after all. Besides all that, John did not seem to want anything other than a physical relationship anyway. Sherlock knew better than to engage in anything of the sort. Yes, John would soon be forgotten once Sherlock found something more interesting to occupy his mind.

"Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty drawled as Sherlock entered his room.

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile. "What have you got for me tonight?"

"Oh, won't you like to find out. This stuff is very calming; it might even make the pet sick with worry over you." Moriarty bit back, digging a small plastic baggie out of his desk drawer and sliding it towards Sherlock. Sherlock slid a few twenty dollar bills across the desk in response.

"We don't talk about John." Sherlock snapped as he collected the baggie and removed its contents. He immediately began preparing the cocaine for use.

He did not know why Moriarty's comments about John annoyed him. He did not take the time to think about it too deeply. Instead, he simply stuck the syringe in his arm and hoped for a few hours of calm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he likely realized that there was some truth behind what Moriarty was saying. John probably would worry about him. He was strange that way. Sherlock could not bring himself to mind.

_John Watson_, Sherlock thought with a smile as a familiar calm washed over him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - John**

By the end of the month, John knew exactly five things about Sherlock Holmes.

**1. He was a surprisingly good roommate.**

Sherlock always waited for John to return from class or baseball tryouts before going to dinner. It was not for lack of friends; John knew that Sherlock received a number of invitations from the rest of their floor. The girls on the other side of the hall had taken an active interest in the resident genius, and Jim Moriarty had maintained a borderline obsession with the boy. John could not pretend that he was not flattered to be given priority over the other competing parties.

He also had a tendency to burrow under his covers with a flashlight on Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights when he knew that John had an 8am class the next morning. Sherlock did not seem to sleep very much, but he was shockingly courteous about making sure that he did not interrupt John's slumber.

Perhaps most shocking of all, Sherlock always saved John a seat in their shared anatomy and chemistry classes. Whether John did or did not go to class, there would always be a seat reserved from him. Sherlock simply refused to work with anyone else. He claimed that he did not want to have to get to know more people than he had to. John suspected that Sherlock didn't want to admit that perhaps they had become friends over the course of the month.

**2. He was brilliant.**

Sherlock was a highly valued resource throughout the dorm. He helped everyone on their floor with homework every single night, so long as the homework did not involve anything involving liberal arts. Sherlock detested students in the art school.

He was also a bit of a smart aleck in class. From what John observed in their mutual classes, Sherlock knew everything that the professors did. He answered every question in class and at times even corrected the professors. He was none too modest about his intelligence, either.

**3. He had an appetite for destruction.**

John had completely given up on keeping their room tidy. Regardless of the number of lectures both of the boys received from Greg and Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock never cleaned up after his experiments and John certainly was not going to clean up after him. There were fingers in the microwave, ears in the mini fridge, and John truly did not want to know what resided in Sherlock's closet.

Sherlock's experiments alone were enough to signify John that living with the lanky genius was not going to be nearly as glamorous as he had imagined. He had nearly blown his eyebrows clean off his face a number of times. John almost wished he had. Having a less attractive roommate certainly would not have been the worst thing to ever happen to John.

Sherlock had also dismantled the smoke alarm in order to smoke in the room at his leisure as well as perform a number of experiments that John wasn't even sure were legal. John didn't mind the smoking and the experiments too much; he was much more concerned about he and Sherlock's fate should there ever be a dorm fire.

Worst of all, Sherlock had vandalized the dorm room. He had apparently been 'bored' while John and Jim were both in class and had decided that spray painting a big yellow smiley face would fix that. He also conveniently decided that the smiley face belonged on John's side of the room. John had a sneaking suspicion that he would receive the fine come move-out day.

**4. He was infuriatingly good-looking at any given time.**

John had forced himself to learn Sherlock's showering schedule in order to avoid the room during those dreaded times. The guy was absolutely shameless when it came to walking around in a towel for hours after his shower. Seeing him fully clothed was difficult for John. Seeing him dripping wet while wearing only a small towel just barely hanging from his waist would surely be John's cause of death.

As it was, Sherlock already walked around the room in nothing but a thin sheet on the days when he decided that going to class was not worth the effort. John was beginning to suspect that Sherlock was torturing him on purpose. After all, the boy found a way to look good even after he had just woken up. John had developed a habit of staring at the ground whenever Sherlock was present.

**5. His friend Jim was bad news.**

It was obvious that Sherlock and Jim did some kind of drugs when Sherlock disappeared to Jim's room for a few hours at a time. John recognized the signs easily enough. Unfortunately, telling Sherlock about the consequences of his action was useless. He simply did not care. Sometimes John could distract Sherlock from going to Jim's room, but the genius got bored so easily that it was always a difficult thing to do.

When Sherlock _did_ go to Jim's room, he would always come back high as a kite and blabbering on and on about what Jim was. John would always mutter some indulgent thing or just remain silent, knowing better than to argue with Sherlock when he was high. Jim may or may not have been a genius; that was unclear to John. The only thing that was clear was that John loathed him.

John's hatred might have stemmed from the fact that Sherlock and Jim spent an inordinate amount of time together. They had a Theory of Crime and Punishment class together and were constantly talking about the case studies they were assigned. It seemed that they had similar ideas when it came to convicting criminals. John didn't particularly want to know the details of their conversations. He imagined they would be terribly severe and likely explicit in more ways than one.

Still, that didn't stop John from being jealous. As if Jim and Sherlock didn't spend enough time together, Jim would often drop by their dorm room and pick on John to win favor with Sherlock. John tried to resist playing into Jim's games, but found himself flinging insults across the shoebox of a room at least once a day. It was exhausting.

Aside from Jim, though, living with Sherlock was great. He helped everyone with their homework, but was much more patient with John. He had yet to go to the dining hall without inviting John and could usually be convinced to eat at least a piece of toast. He would sometimes go to John's baseball practices and outline the weaknesses of every player that John was struggling against. John could even convince Sherlock to go with him to parties on weekends, although John would usually get jealous the second that Sherlock ventured onto the dance floor surrounded by girls and would create some terrible excuse for returning to the dorm.

Yes, barring the five things that John knew for certain about Sherlock, life was relatively simple.

However, it was on this particular day that John was struggling with a culmination of these five things. Sherlock was bored yet again.

"Why don't you start the anatomy homework? Molly said it took her nearly two hours." John suggested, hoping that a lengthy homework assignment would be enough to deter Sherlock from paying Jim a visit.

Sherlock let out a frustrated growl. "I finished all of my assignments twenty minutes ago. This is hopeless. I need Moriarty. Hand me my cell phone, would you?"

"No, I, ah, have you heard about the murder on Baker Street?"

That got Sherlock's attention rather quickly. His ears pricked up as he turned to look at John. John bit back a smile, suddenly very relieved that he had paid attention to the tweets complaining about the traffic implications that the crime scene had caused.

"What happened? What were the exact circumstances? Do they have any suspects yet?" Sherlock demanded, bounding across the room to reach over John's shoulders and use his laptop to better research the murder. For his part, John kept his eyes resolutely on the computer screen and refused to lean into Sherlock's arms.

"Ah," Sherlock murmured in an excited tone, "There's a serial killer lurking around. Oh, it's Christmas in October! It looks like the police are woefully out of their depths, as per usual. I think it's time to give them a little bit of assistance, don't you?"

The taller boy bounded across the door room and snatched up his overdramatic black coat. John rolled his eyes and glanced down at his watch.

"Sherlock, I've got biology in fifteen minutes."

"So skip your class."

"I've already got three unexcused absences. He's going to start taking points off of my final grade."

Sherlock considered this for a moment before nodding. "Very well. I suppose I'll just have to find something else to occupy my time. I cannot go to a crime scene alone and I certainly won't allow Molly to accompany me. Hm. I wonder what Jim is doing…"

John let out an annoyed sigh. Sherlock was using Jim to get his way. He had made this bluff a number of times and it had always gotten him whatever it was that he wanted. John just couldn't wait and see if Sherlock would follow through on the bluff. There was too much at stake.

"Just let me think of an excuse to tell my professor."

Sherlock's mouth curved into a barely noticeable smile. "Would the truth not suffice?"

"No, I don't think 'my roommate is coercing me into going with him to a crime scene' would really fly." John answered with a small laugh.

"Why not?" Sherlock seemed genuinely puzzled.

John laughed again. "I'll just tell him that I'm sick."

Once the necessary email was sent, John followed Sherlock out of the dorms. The pair caught a cab and got as close to the crime scene as they could. Sherlock leapt out of the cab the moment it came to a halt, leaving John to pay the fares. John didn't mind nearly as much as he should have. He considered it well worth it if it meant that Sherlock was not spending his time in Jim's room.

When the boys reached the crime scene, John was surprised to see Greg following around the police officers swarming the perimeter, taking notes frantically. Sherlock ignored the authorities altogether and approached the corpse. John followed him, struggling to keep his eyes focusing on anything above Sherlock's waistline.

Greg noticed the new additions to the crime scene before anyone else and reddened. He approached his residents before the police chief noticed and arrested them both.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? I thought I told you to stay away from crime scenes. You're going to make me lose my internship." The older boy groaned, trying to shepherd Sherlock away from the corpse.

John tried not to laugh as Sherlock tried to dance around their annoyed RA. "I didn't know that you had an internship with the police, Greg. Do you ever have free time?"

"Not really," Greg answered, sparing John an amused grin before shoving Sherlock farther away from the corpse, "Although most of my time is spent looking after this one." He nodded at Sherlock pointedly.

Sherlock scowled at John before folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Greg. "Let me examine the body," He whined impatiently, craning his neck to get a better view of the corpse, "I can tell you the suspect that you should be looking for as well as the exact cause of death. You don't even have to give me credit. Wouldn't Officer Dimmock be impressed?"

Greg rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Go home, Sherlock."

"You're looking for a man with a wooden leg. This murder was not planned, but was a stepping stool to another, more malicious murder. This was inevitable, don't you see?" Sherlock began to explain a bit desperately.

"What's he talking about?" Greg inquired, looking at John for some sort of explanation.

John shrugged, struggling to maintain an objective expression as Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth in a calculating manner. He should not have found his roommate's deduction process so attractive.

"The uniform," Sherlock growled impatiently.

John bit down on his lip to keep his tongue in his mouth.

"The uniform?" Greg repeated, glancing back at his boss to see if he was in danger of getting yelled at.

Sherlock sighed, immediately taking on airs at the knowledge that he had captured Greg's attention. "The uniform is standard-issue, indicating a labor job of sorts; a prison guard, to be exact. Prison guards tend to have knowledge of unsavory characters that are to be kept from the inmates as a precautionary measure. This particular guard found your suspect - who seemed to have an unsettled score with one of the inmates - lingering around the prison. The fact that this murder occurred means that he must have found a way into the prison. You can expect another murder in a matter of weeks."

John's jaw dropped open. "That was fantastic!" He heard himself exclaim.

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile, but he kept his stare fixed on Greg.

"How do you know that the suspect has a wooden leg?" Greg asked in a resigned tone.

Sherlock snorted, glancing at John to see if his roommate shared his disbelief. When he noticed that John was just as clueless as Greg, his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"The splinters; look at the splinters in the wound!" He explained impatiently, "The suspect was not expecting company when pursuing the prison and was therefore without a weapon. You can see that the victim's head was bashed in with a blunt object. Where, then, did he find an object to kill this man?"

"The man took off his wooden leg and killed him with it." John ventured in amazement.

Greg crossed his arms. "How come he's at Baker Street, then? Why not near the prison?"

Sherlock snorted again. John shot him a sharp look that he hoped would shut up any condescending comment that Sherlock had planned on making. Sherlock observed the look and let out an annoyed huff.

"The murderer hasn't completed his original goal yet, has he? There's still a prisoner that he wants dead and he wouldn't risk anyone stopping him. He put his first victim here to keep you all off of his trail; quite successfully, I might add."

As Sherlock finished his explanation, a wiry old man approached them with a rather annoyed expression. Judging from the look on Greg's face, they were about to be scolded by his boss.

"Lestrade, who are these two and why are they on my crime scene?" The older man growled.

Greg's face reddened. He shuffled his feet nervously. "My residents, sir. They think that they know what happened here and wanted to run it by me. I'm sorry; I'll get them away from the scene right away."

"Hold on a moment. Let's hear this theory." Dimmock responded, sounding thoroughly amused by the very idea.

John couldn't help but feel smug as Sherlock launched into the same explanation that he had given Greg, somehow managing to sound even more condescending than before. By the end of his deductions, Dimmock looked as though he had been hit over the head by a wooden leg, himself.

"How did you figure all of that out?" The chief demanded incredulously.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I had just explained that."

"He's a bit of a genius." John added by way of explanation, unable to resist bragging about the indescribable boy standing next to him.

Dimmock's stare shifted to John. "Who are you?"

"That's John. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa." Sherlock answered quickly, not allowing John even the slightest chance to answer the question for himself. Well, it wasn't the absolute truth, but John certainly wished that it was.

Dimmock nodded before returning his attention to Sherlock. "How would you like to be an intern at the station? You already know Lestrade, of course, and we've got a few others. None like you, though. We could use guys like you."

"What about John?"

John and Greg both looked at Sherlock in confusion. Why was Sherlock including John? He would be virtually useless to the police station. John wasn't even sure that he had time for an internship between school, baseball, and pining for Sherlock.

"Can he solve crimes, too?" Dimmock returned, staring down at John skeptically. John shook his head reluctantly.

"That doesn't matter," Sherlock stated in a clipped tone, "I won't solve anything without him. Consider him my assistant, if you must. We are a packaged deal."

John's mouth went dry. Sherlock had never acted so clingy before. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't dreaming. If he was dreaming, he hoped that Sherlock wouldn't remain so devastatingly overdressed for very long.

Dimmock let out an annoyed growl but conceded. He couldn't afford to lose someone of Sherlock's caliber. John knew exactly how that felt.

After signing a number of forms and going over the explanation for the victim's death about four more times, Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes alight with excitement.

"Dinner?" He offered.

"Starved." John beamed.

* * *

><p>Another trip to the dining hall did not seem quite as celebratory as it could have been, so Sherlock and John opted to pay Angelo a visit. Almost immediately, they were given a table in the back of the restaurant with a 'romantic' candle and a complimentary bottle of wine. John didn't even bother protesting when Angelo made a comment about their 'second date'.<p>

They immediately fell into comfortable conversation at the table secluded from the rest of the world. They made fun of their mutual professors (although Sherlock certainly had much more grounds to do so, being more intelligent than all of the professors combined), they speculated on Greg's crush on Molly (John was much more interested in that topic that Sherlock was), and John began to wonder whether or not Greg abused his RA position to create excuses to talk to Molly.

"I don't think so," Sherlock mused thoughtfully, "he spends the majority of his time on-duty near Jim's room. He nearly caught Jim and I with cocaine once. Since then, he's been very suspicious. It's a bit annoying."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So it's cocaine that you're doing, then?"

Sherlock froze, realizing at once that he had said more than he had meant to. He eyed John carefully. "Yes, among other things. It's very high-grade; very effective, but very easy to control."

"Right," John snorted cynically, "And what happens once you do the cocaine? You stay in his room a lot. Do you two…?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?" John decided that it was best not to answer that question straight on.

"I'm just trying to understand what the appeal is. You can't keep doing drugs, you know. Not with this internship. They'll find out about it sooner or later, and when they do, they're going to press charges."

"Yes, Mycroft." Sherlock muttered, looking very much like a cat who had just been scolded with a spray bottle of water.

"Sherlock, I'm serious -"

Whatever John was about to say was cut off by the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor. Sherlock had nearly jumped straight out of his chair in an effort to get away from the lecture he was receiving. John's heart sank straight to the bottom of his stomach as Sherlock stomped out of the restaurant without saying another word.

John let out a loud sigh and took a large gulp of wine. He knew that Sherlock would go to Jim's room to blow off steam. It was somewhat of a reflex of his roommate's. John should have known better than to ambush Sherlock the way he did. For a genius, the boy was awfully delicate that way.

After finishing his meal and making an excuse for Sherlock's early departure, John left Angelo's and caught a cab back to the dorm. Once in the dorm, he slipped past Greg and Molly, who were watching a movie in the lounge, and trudged to his room. He went straight to his bed and half-heartedly muddled through his homework.

John had only made it through one question on his anatomy homework when Sherlock returned to the room. John reluctantly looked up from his textbook and immediately paused upon seeing Sherlock.

He looked sad. No, it was more than sad; he looked...lost. For someone that rarely showed any type of emotion, Sherlock was showing a great deal now. John's heart gave an involuntary twinge in his chest. He sat up a bit higher.

"Are you okay?" John asked gently.

Sherlock turned as if he was surprised that John had spoken. John watched him carefully, wondering just what the hell Jim had given him to make him act this way.

"I, ah, fine. Yes." Sherlock mumbled.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, but I have to ask. What did you take tonight?"

"Nothing. I didn't take anything. I'm...sober," Sherlock looked strangely upset by that confession, "Goodnight, John."

John watched Sherlock crawl into bed curiously, but decided that it was best not to comment.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - Sherlock**

John Watson.

He was such an ordinary boy. He should not have meant a thing to Sherlock. And yet, the genius could not deny the growing attachment he felt to his roommate. That attachment was beginning to get out of hand. He had refused to work without John; Sherlock had never been interested in having another coworker in his life. His schedule revolved around John's schedule. He did his homework two hours before John did his own homework so that Sherlock would be able to explain it to John by the time he had questions, and worse than that, he constantly skipped his ridiculous English class simply because that was when John usually took a shower. Perhaps worst of all, Sherlock had not even allowed Jim to show off his newest shipment of drugs. He had felt too guilty and all-around miserable to do anything other than crawl into bed and watch John struggle with his homework.

John, on the other hand, did not seem to have nearly the same attachment to Sherlock. Sherlock did believe that John was still attracted to him, but the attraction was purely physical. John was always lecturing him, scolding him, and calling him a number of names. The only thing that his roommate didn't bother insulting was his appearance. Clearly John Watson only valued one thing about Sherlock.

While miserably sober and watching John chew on the end of his pencil, Sherlock had considered a strictly physical relationship with John. He had ultimately decided against it after about five minutes. He didn't want a strictly physical relationship with John. He wanted more. He wanted to possess him, to consume him. If John gave him even an inch, he would take a mile. He would allow himself to get far too reliant on John.

John would find somebody else shortly, Sherlock decided, and it would be far better if Sherlock practiced remaining unattached, as Mycroft had instructed. Still, becoming detached was a lot harder than Sherlock had thought it would be. It was almost as if John knew what Sherlock was thinking and was intentionally making everything much more difficult than it should have been.

It seemed that everything John did drove Sherlock wild. He had developed an infuriating habit of eating bananas as part of his breakfast. Sherlock was forced to stare down at his phone while John shoved nearly half of a banana down his throat every single morning. It was best not to linger on that particular thought. John also walked around the dorm room in those awful plaid pajama pants and that worn gray t-shirt that Sherlock had learned to hate. He told stupid jokes that Sherlock dutifully rolled his eyes at, although he may or may not have chuckled to himself once John left the room. John always asked Sherlock to attend his baseball practices. Sherlock usually rejected the invitations in order to avoid the sight of John in tight pants. John insisted on dragging Sherlock to a new party every Saturday night then promptly decided that they were better off in the dorm the moment that Sherlock attracted anyone's interest. Once back in the dorm, John shared his ramen as they warmed up from walking from party to party in the cold night air.

In order to escape all of these things, Sherlock tried to distance himself from John by spending time with his other "friends".

The most obvious solution was to linger about the police station while John was forced to spend time on campus with classes, baseball, and studying. This lasted for about a week. Lestrade was oblivious to the cause of Sherlock's constant presence but seemed happy enough to have help around the office. Sherlock did not mind helping him, as he genuinely enjoyed the work. It seemed like a fairly suitable arrangement until Lestrade proved to be a hopeless bore. On the fifth day of Sherlock hanging around the office, Lestrade decided to consult him about his infatuation with Molly Hooper, the mousy girl down the hall. Sherlock had immediately resolved to spend his free time elsewhere.

Sherlock's next companion was Seb Wilkes. While the friendship seemed strange to some of their floormates, Sherlock considered it an ideal pairing. Seb did not mind Sherlock hovering around his room, nor did his roommate, Mike. Seb only wanted to watch football and do homework, which suited Sherlock just fine. When Seb was distracted by football, Sherlock was left to his own thoughts. Seb let Sherlock ramble about whatever interested him while they did homework, so long as Sherlock supplied the right answer at the end. Best of all, Seb rarely discussed his romantic interests. It was certainly enough that Sherlock could overlook that particular fault in character. Sometimes Seb would even get ahold of some weed and would light up with Sherlock. Unfortunately, Sherlock could not bring himself to feel very comfortable around Seb. He knew enough to know that Seb was putting on an act around him but he did not know enough to know why or what type of creature Sebastian Wilkes was. It was on to the next try, then.

Mike Stamford - Seb's slightly less fake roommate - was Sherlock's next attempt. The arrangement only lasted a day. Mike asked far too many questions and was a blithering idiot. That analysis might have been a bit biased; Mike had the brilliant idea to tell Sherlock about a girl in one of his classes who had confessed to having a crush on John. Sherlock had escaped Mike's company about five minutes later.

Short as his time with Mike Stamford was, Sherlock's time testing out Molly was shorter still. She was much too mousy and fluttered about in a way that made Sherlock nervous. Sherlock could never have peace of mind around her.

That left Jim. Sherlock did not like to even consider Jim. Jim's interests were primarily getting Sherlock too high to properly function. Contrary to what John Watson seemed to believe, Sherlock did not want to be high all of the time; just at the times when his mind got too loud. Still, Jim was the only person in the building with an IQ that was on par with Sherlock's. He did not have any other options. It was either spend time with Jim or be driven to insanity by John Watson.

"You're spending a lot of time over there, aren't you?" John remarked one Saturday morning as Sherlock got dressed to go to Jim's room.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he slowly turned to look at John. John was jealous, that much was clear. What was unclear, however, was what right John thought he had to his jealousy. The only thing he felt for Sherlock was physical attraction. Sherlock should have been the one making annoyed comments.

"Yes, I suppose I am. You've been quite observant lately, haven't you?" Sherlock shot back.

John glared at Sherlock. That had been happening a lot lately. "I just don't really want you keeling over and dying in the middle of the night. The paperwork would be a nightmare."

Hidden from John's view, Sherlock winced. If John were to 'keel over and die,' Sherlock would not be able to help feeling distressed. He valued John's life, strange as it was. Meanwhile, if he were to die, it would only serve as yet another tedious implication for John. So this was why Mycroft had always instructed him to remain unaffected by those surrounding him.

"I will not die in the middle of the night, although your concern is heartwarming," Sherlock responded coldly, "I know exactly what I can and cannot handle. You might consider paying attention to your own problems. Perhaps if you spent less time managing my drug problem and more time managing your grades, you would not have to think of an excuse to make to your sister for your History grade."

"Getting a C is a hell of a lot different than getting high all the time." John snapped in a self-righteous tone that nearly caused Sherlock to heave up the piece of toast he really should not have eaten.

"I agree," Sherlock bit back, "I am much more capable of managing my problem."

Apparently that was John Watson's breaking point. He slammed his hands on his desk and stood up. He approached Sherlock, his eyes wild and his chest heaving. Sherlock wasn't sure whether he found that appealing or intimidating. Perhaps both.

"You are a bastard, Sherlock Holmes. Do you really think that there aren't consequences to what you're doing? I know all about it. Harry, my sister, yeah, she's an alcoholic. Doesn't like anybody to know, pretends that she's normal just like everyone else. But she's not. She spends all of our money on booze, she hasn't been able to hold down a job in about five years, and she's killing herself. I've had enough of it. Arguing with you addicts, I mean. It's pointless."

"Your sister is an alcoholic?" That was the only thing Sherlock could think to say. He had not deduced that particular point. He felt a bit dumbfounded at the sight of John Watson so upset.

"Yeah, not something I really like to brag about. It's terrible, you know. Living with addicts. It's pure selfishness on their part. It's asking somebody to watch you kill yourself and you know what? I can't do it. I just cannot do it, Sherlock. You've got to stop ruining your life and pushing away anyone who might care about you just for the sake of getting high. It just isn't worth it."

"Anyone who might care about me?" Sherlock echoed incredulously, "Who might that be, John? Hm? Have you taken a look at my address book recently? It isn't heavily populated, you know."

"Molly Hooper," John was counting off people. Sherlock was sure that he could refute them all.

"Molly would like me drugs or not. She would probably drug me herself if it meant I would agree to any of her invitations to go get coffee." Sherlock snapped.

"Lestrade."

"He'd appreciate the quiet in my absence."

"Seb."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is he aware that I'm still alive?"

"Mike."

"Give him a sandwich and he'd never miss me."

"Your fucking brother."

"Give him a cupcake and he'd never miss me. Actually, he'd probably pay you to finish me off yourself."

John threw up his hands in exasperation. He wiped his face with one of his hands before returning to look at Sherlock. His face and eyes were red in a way that Sherlock had not expected. Had Sherlock not been trembling with anger, he would have felt guilty for getting John this worked up over something as trivial as cocaine.

"Me!" John hollered.

Sherlock snorted, his mouth curving into a cruel grin. "I'm sure you could find someone else to gawk at from time to time. He might even be able to give you answers to your homework, too. That is all I'm worth to you, isn't it? Not what I would exactly classify as 'caring'."

John's jaw clenched. He looked down at the floor, shook his head, then returned his stare to Sherlock. Sherlock was not entirely sure that John wasn't going to hit him. The taller boy considered backing away before that happened. He had a feeling that John could inflict a rather severe amount of damage when he wanted to.

"Good thing, too. I feel fucking sorry for anyone who ever really cares about you." John spat.

Sherlock did take a few steps back. It was as though John had punched him right in the face. He had expected John to say something, to at least pretend that he cared. He was not expecting honesty. John Watson was too humane for honesty.

John watched Sherlock recoil in pain for a moment before snorting and shaking his head. Sherlock could not believe how cruel he was being. Clearly uninterested in consoling his addict of a roommate, John snatched his phone off of his desk and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In John's absence, Sherlock paced the room and knocked over anything that crossed his path. He ranted and raved to himself and nearly tore his violin in half trying to console himself. How could John have been so terribly mean? It was so unlike him. It was one of the things that Sherlock had admired about him. He supposed that he certainly did not have a chance for any type of relationship with John, friendship or otherwise. John hated him.

Sherlock stopped in front of the window. He peered out of it thoughtfully. He could not automatically fall off of the face of the Earth like he wanted to, no, but he could fall out of the window. He shook his head. Suicide would not be feasible with the small amount of distance from the window to the ground. At best, he would put himself in the hospital and Mycroft would find out about everything. He couldn't go anywhere else, either. Someone else might try to stop him.

Instead, he settled for turning out the lights, laying in bed, and staring at the wall, desperately wishing that John Watson wasn't so cruel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - John**

Sherlock had been ignoring John for two weeks straight. The pair no longer visited the police station together; Sherlock would wait until John was in class to solve whatever crime Dimmock had waiting for him. A few hours later, John would be forced to go to the station alone to write up the report. Instead of waiting for John to go to the dining hall, Sherlock began going to meals with Seb, Seb's friends, Jim, and Jim's creepy roommate, Moran. Even when he wasn't in the dining hall, Sherlock found other places to be whenever John returned to the room. Sherlock didn't return to the room until late at night, at which point he would simply go to bed without a word. Worse still, Sherlock had switched lab partners with Molly in their shared anatomy class. John was now stuck with Mike Stamford, who was eager to know the cause of the pair's fallout. Meanwhile, Sherlock worked alongside of Molly, who was clearly not looking the gift horse in the mouth.

Strangely enough, Sherlock didn't seem to be avoiding John out of anger. When asked, he would help John with his homework without any type of attitude or snide comment. He just didn't want to. John nearly had to force Sherlock to communicate with him when necessary. It was clear that Sherlock was no longer mad; he was something else entirely.

"Sherlock been in?" John asked one afternoon, walking into the police station after a long morning of classes. He frowned at the large stack of paperwork sitting in the interns' cubby. There was no doubt in his mind that Sherlock had solved the kidnapping case that had been driving Dimmock up the wall. John was also fairly confident that Sherlock and Greg had agreed to leave him all of the paperwork.

Greg afforded John a sheepish smile. "Yeah, he just left a short while ago. Took one look at the kidnapping and figured out that the twice removed aunt did it. I don't know how he comes up with the stuff. Ah, there's a bit of paperwork left over."

"Yeah, I saw that. Thanks for contributing, bud." John laughed, scooping up the massive pile of paperwork and sitting down at an empty cubicle near Greg.

"Well, you know, we just figured that since we actually went down to pick up the kids…"

"Sherlock went with you?" John was mildly surprised by that piece of news. Sherlock had expressed his disdain for children a number of times before he had stopped talking altogether. John could not imagine Sherlock wanting to pick up a few crying children in a scenario where he was expected to be compassionate.

"Yeah. Don't know whose bright idea that was." Greg replied with a laugh.

"Hm," John agreed, running a hand through his hair, "Yeah, how is he?"

"Who, Sherlock?"

"Yeah."

"Aw, he wasn't that bad. Dimmock talked to him before he spoke to the kids, and -"

"No, I didn't really, ah, I mean...just...in general, how is he?"

"You don't know?"

John shook his head. "We, er, we haven't really talked lately."

"Are you two alright? I don't need to have some kind of meeting or anything?"

"No, no, we're fine. You know, just schoolwork and stuff. You know what, forget it. I'm sure he's fine."

"No, uh, now that you mention it, he has been a bit off," Greg interjected, "Worse than usual, anyway. I just thought that he was having trouble with school. Are you sure that you're both alright? I really don't mind counseling you both if you need it."

"Worse than usual how?" John demanded, opting to ignore Greg's offer.

Greg looked at John oddly but answered the forceful question. "I don't know, he's not quite as much as an ass as he usually is. He's just sort of...quiet. Not in a good way. I don't know. Looks like he's lost something and he can't remember what it was. Is he in some kind of trouble? Is there anything that I need to know?"

John quickly shook his head. "No...no, 'course not. He just got in a fight with his brother again. You know, sibling rivalries and such."

"Ah, yeah, no need to tell me about that. I've had enough of those for a lifetime," Greg allowed with a knowing smile, "Ah, so, speaking of Sherlock...why'd he switch lab partners with Mike?"

John's face reddened. It was going to be much more difficult to lie to Greg about that. Sherlock's partner switch had been personal, there was no denying that. It had absolutely nothing to do with his fictitious fight with Mycroft.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I don't know. Apparently Mike wanted some distance from Molly. He was telling me about it earlier. He's starting to get some, ah, feelings for her and thought it'd be better if he distanced himself a bit. You know how that is. I offered to work with Molly, but Sherlock and Mike don't really get along very well." John didn't really know where that answer had come from, but he managed to keep a straight face while talking. Greg's ears immediately perked up.

"Mike likes Molly?" It was clear that the words had just slipped right out of Greg's mouth. John nodded, biting back a smile.

"But Sherlock doesn't?"

John snorted. "I don't think Sherlock likes anybody."

Greg chuckled his agreement before turning to do some of the paperwork that he couldn't add to John's pile. John reached for his own massive pile of paperwork, hoping that he would manage to finish it all before baseball practice.

* * *

><p>John dragged his feet as he trudged back to his dorm room from baseball practice. He could not remember a time when he was so exhausted and he still had a massive list of homework assignments waiting for him. He was just walking by Seb Wilkes' room when the sound of Sherlock's name caught his attention.<p>

"Yeah, the freak gave me all of the homework answers. You can copy it if you want or you can just go down to his room and get him to do it all for you. He's desperate for friends, you know. As far as I can say, he'll do anything; he'll do your homework, pay for your drugs, buy your dinner, he'd probably even suck a dick if you asked nicely." A few guys laughed and muttered their agreement.

Without thinking, John stomped into Seb's room. He was livid. He was so angry that he could hardly see. Everything in his sight was beginning to look a strange reddish hue. How could Seb say that Sherlock was desperate? Seb didn't know a thing about him.

"I'm sorry," John snarled as everyone turned to look at him oddly, "I think I must have heard you wrong. Were you just talking about Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh, come off it, Watson," Seb chuckled, clearly not taking John's anger very seriously, "We all know that you're fed up with him, too. Why don't you just tell him to go ahead and kill himself already? I think he'd do it if you asked. Stamford said he saw Holmes eying the rooftop of the science building last night. Thought he might jump. You could give him the final push he needs."

That was all it took for John Watson to absolutely lose his mind. He launched himself across the room at Seb, paying little to no attention to those surrounding him. Unfortunately, he only managed to get in a few satisfying punches before the other boys managed to pull him off of Sebastian. The other boys then rewarded John's violence with violence of their own.

John tasted blood as a pair of teeth found their way into his arm. He struggled against the tight grip of the two heavier guys holding him down to no avail. He soon came to accept that this stupid fight might be the cause of his death.

"Hey!" Greg Lestrade's voice had never sounded better, "What're you doing? Get off him!"

The boys all scrambled to duck out of the way or exit the room before Greg could properly identify them. Greg didn't seem too preoccupied with taking names; he just knelt down between Seb, who was clutching his nose and whining, and John, who wiped some blood from his busted lip before glowering at Seb.

"Aw, what the hell, guys? Seb, let me get a look at your nose," Greg grumbled, shoving Seb's hand out of the way in order to get a better look at his nose. When he did, Seb whined and Greg groaned. "Right, yeah, just as I thought. It's broken. Go on to health services. Come straight back when you're done. I need to hear the details of what happened here."

"It was Watson," Victor bit out from the other side of the room, "He just attacked us!"

"John attacked all of you by himself?" Greg asked dubiously. He turned to look at John for some kind of refutation. John cleared his throat and looked away. Greg raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Alright, then. Seb, get to health services. John, I've got to take you to the dean of student affairs."

"I thought that Mrs. Hudson was in charge of punishment for dorm behavior." John protested.

Greg shook his head gravely. "Assault charges go straight to the dean."

"Wait," Seb spluttered, staggering to his feet as Greg and John trudged towards the door, "This can't go to the dean. Any trouble and my parents will stop paying my tuition. Can't we just sweep this under the rug? Watson didn't mean no harm. We both just got a little mad, that's all."

Greg looked uncertain. John saw this as an opportunity.

"Yeah," John agreed eagerly. It was entirely possible that his scholarship would disappear entirely if he were to receive an assault charge, "It really wasn't that bad. C'mon, Greg. It won't happen again, I swear." John shot a dark look in Seb's direction for confirmation. Seb nodded vigorously, silently agreeing to John's terms. Nobody would talk about Sherlock Holmes again, and therefore, John would not be forced to attack anybody.

"Fine," Greg sighed reluctantly, "I don't like it, but I don't want either of you to have to pay your tuition by yourselves. It's not great. Just...get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Seb and his friends obeyed immediately. Seb wandered off in the direction of student health services in order to get his nose bandaged - though John hoped that it permanently looked a bit crooked - while Seb's friends darted off in the direction of Jim Moriarty's room. John sincerely hoped that Sherlock was not in Jim's room.

"What the hell was that about? I thought that you and Wilkes were good friends." Greg demanded, spinning around to look at John critically.

John scowled. "I'd never be friends with scum like Sebastian Wilkes."

"But I thought -"

"Do you know where Sherlock is?" John asked in a clipped tone, not wanting to participate in Greg's questioning any longer. He was only concerned with keeping Seb's friends from saying anything cruel to his daft roommate.

"Probably in your room," A suspicious look crossed Greg's face, "Why?"

John's mouth twitched into a smile. "I'm not going to attack him, if that's what you're thinking. Just, ah, would you not tell him about this?" John gestured towards Seb's empty room. There were blood stains on the carpet. "Wouldn't want him to think that he has to take either my side or Seb's. Uh, anyway, I'd better shower. You know, get a bit cleaned up. I'll, er, I'll see you later."

John rushed off in the direction of his room before Greg could further question him. The very last thing that he wanted to admit to Greg was his true reason for fighting Seb. Greg couldn't know that John was desperately in love with Sherlock. Nobody could know.

John stumbled into his and Sherlock's room and immediately looked around for any sign of Sherlock. He found a sign; the taller boy was sitting on his bed, peering over his laptop to get a better look at John. John smiled up at him sheepishly.

John looked like a disaster; his nose had started bleeding, his lip was busted, and he could already feel a number of bruises forming across his skin. There was blood all over his baseball uniform, although he wasn't quite sure whose blood it was, exactly, and he was fairly certain that his clothes were wrinkled beyond belief. The fact that he looked bad enough to cause Sherlock to pay attention to him was enough of an indicator.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked in a tone that almost sounded concerned. John wished.

"Oh, ah, accident at baseball practice. The guys were just being a bit rougher than usual. You know how it is." John replied with a shrug.

Sherlock stared at John thoughtfully, but didn't say whether or not he believed John. John didn't push the topic for fear that he would only look guiltier.

"I have a first aid kit in my desk," Sherlock remarked, climbing off of his bed and pulling a small box out of his desk drawer, "You might want to clean yourself up before dinner."

John accepted the first aid kit (as well as the convenient change in subject) before looking up at Sherlock inquisitively. "Dinner?"

Sherlock had not mentioned going to dinner since their fight so many days ago. John had all but given up on the idea of dining with Sherlock Holmes ever again.

"Yes, Molly invited me to eat with you all tonight. She sent me a text a few moments ago saying that we would likely eat once you were finished with baseball practice. Do you mind my presence?" Sherlock asked as he watched John dab away blood, apply anti-infection cream, meticulously place band-aids, and change out of his torn baseball uniform.

"No, no, not at all," John spluttered, shaking his head quickly, "No, I think that it would be nice for you to come to dinner with us. Actually, I was hoping that you'd tell me more about the case you solved today. Greg left all of the paperwork to me, but it actually looked interesting."

Sherlock's eyes lit up a bit. John smiled in relief. There was still a bit of tension between the two - how could there not be? - but it was clear that at the very least, Sherlock had forgiven him. That was enough for now.

As John got dressed, Sherlock recounted the details of the kidnapping case. Of course, this was Sherlock telling the story, which meant that minor details - like the type of shoes the kidnapper was wearing - were emphasized, while important details - like how the kidnapper managed to take the children - were labeled as 'uninteresting' and were only mentioned when absolutely necessary. John didn't care. As far as he could tell, Sherlock was a natural story teller.

Molly and Greg appeared at the door halfway through Sherlock's story, but that didn't deter Sherlock in the least. He allowed himself to be led in the direction of the dining hall while he continued to explain the case to John. Molly and Greg would occasionally chime in, but Sherlock didn't pay them nearly as much attention. John was on cloud nine.

At dinner, everyone behaved as though John and Sherlock's fallout had never happened. Molly shared stories from her classes, which only Greg actually paid attention to. Greg watched John a bit suspiciously but happily discussed all that had been going on at the police station, as well as the new TV show that he had gotten into. Sherlock spoiled the ending of Greg's TV show without thinking much about it. John was beginning to think that he had traveled back to a time when the fight had not happened, something that he was very thankful for.

As dinner progressed, everyone began to discuss their Thanksgiving plans. Greg was going to visit his dad in London, mostly because his mom was going on a cruise with her new boyfriend. Molly was going home, which was just 30 minutes away, and planned to visit her grandparents when she was not cuddling with her dog. John knew his plans all too well; he was staying with Harry and her roommate, Clara, in Washington D.C. Everybody turned to look at Sherlock expectantly once they had gone around in a circle announcing their plans.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, me? I suppose that I'll just find a hotel nearby while the dorms are closed. I'm sure that there will be plenty of murders nearby over the holidays."

"You're not staying with your family?" Molly asked incredulously.

"My parents are currently abroad. I haven't the slightest idea where," Sherlock replied with a shrug, "and I doubt that Mycroft will even realize that it's Thanksgiving. I would much rather stay in a hotel than call Mycroft." Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Ah, well, you could always come to London with me. Plenty of murders there, too." Greg offered awkwardly. Sherlock watched him for a moment before shaking his head.

"The detective inspectors in London don't know me. They know me here. It makes much more sense for me to work here." Sherlock asserted.

"Then you could always come around to my house, at least for Thanksgiving day. It's only 30 minutes away and my nan makes the best bread pudding." Molly remarked eagerly.

"Family dinners aren't really my area." Sherlock drawled.

John watched Sherlock with a small frown. He couldn't help but feel bad for Sherlock as the dark haired boy promptly changed the subject to Molly's new haircut. John resolved to fix Sherlock's warped Thanksgiving plans.

After dinner, John came up with an excuse to visit the library - something about a last-minute need to know where exactly Edgar Allen Poe was buried. Greg and Molly weren't even mildly interested in John's newfound passion for dead poets and said their goodbyes before making their way back to the dorm. Sherlock, on the other hand, would never turn down a trip to the library.

As the pair walked through campus towards the library, John couldn't help but notice that Sherlock was definitely eying the taller buildings, his eyes darting from the roof to the ground in an extremely calculating manner. John's stomach lurched.

Once alone in the deserted library, John turned to look at Sherlock.

"I'm sorry for what I said a few weeks ago. Y'know, the whole caring thing. That wasn't...I mean, I do...I just can't...well, I'm sorry. I still think that you should quit the drugs, but whether or not you do, there will always be a bunch of people that care about you."

Sherlock shifted on his feet awkwardly. It was clear that he had not expected a trip to the library to turn into a memorable moment in their friendship. "Thank...you?"

John smiled slightly as he pulled a few books off of a shelf.

"So," John said conversationally, "You're spending Thanksgiving in a hotel room. Lucky you. I would pay money to get away from Harry and her roommate during the holidays."

Sherlock perked up a bit. "You are...ah...I wouldn't mind it if you joined me over the break."

John's heart pounded in his chest. He had to remind himself that Sherlock was only offering to let him stay in his hotel room because they were friends. Greg or Molly would do the same thing in the blink of an eye.

"Tempting as that sounds, I can't. Harry'd kill me. I guess I'll just have to endure it all alone." John sighed, flipping through a book without actually paying attention to the contents.

John knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock didn't accept Greg or Molly's invitations because they were pity invitations. Sherlock was too proud to accept anything that was given out of pity. It was the same stupid pride that John was taking advantage of now; Sherlock loathed receiving pity, but he loved doling it out. If John had straight out invited Sherlock to his house for Thanksgiving, Sherlock would say no. If he made it sound as though Sherlock spending Thanksgiving at his house was a favor, Sherlock was much more likely to consider it.

"What if...ah...I was there?" Sherlock ventured hesitantly.

John smiled as though he had never even considered the possibility. "You mean, my house? Sherlock, yeah, I mean, if you don't mind, that would be great. I could really use the company."

"I suppose I could come along if it means that much to you," Sherlock allowed, eying John carefully.

"It does." John beamed.

It really did, too. The idea of Sherlock spending the entire break with him meant a lot to John. He would get to experience having Sherlock's complete and undivided attention for an entire week, he would get to experience an entire week without worrying over how high Sherlock was at any given time, and he would get to experience Sherlock in a calmer environment than the chaotic dorm. The only problem was, he would also get to experience the unique torture of trying to resist Sherlock outside of campus jurisdiction.


End file.
